


First Blood

by Notmarysue



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination, Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Gen, Gun Violence, Murder, Post-Russian Affair, child endangerment, chimera, chimera owen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27049114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notmarysue/pseuds/Notmarysue
Summary: After six months hidden away from the world, Owen is eager to get back into the field and prove himself to Chimera. But a seemingly simple mission quickly turns way more complicated than he ever wanted, Owen is forced to make a decision about his own morality.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	First Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the longest one shot I've ever written. Considering the subject matter, lets not look into it too deeply.

Six months had passed since his fall and Owen had barely seen the outside since. Chimera was more than satisfied that his loyalties to MI6 were long dead, but still they kept him on a tight leash. He was still considered fragile, after all. Most of the first three months had been spent recovering. It was all sitting, resting, learning to walk again. It somehow simultaneously equal parts painfully and relaxing, but generally all around boring. The second part of his six-month enforced hiatus was spent retraining. It was a waste of time in Owen’s eyes, but it quickly made clear that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. So, he went through the motions. He already knew how to shoot, he already knew how to kill, and even though chimera took pride in pushing him to his physical and mental limits, he still excelled in comparison to the other trainees. This was the advantage of his unfortunate head start.

Owen sat across from an unattended desk in a small, unorganised office. Books were stacked in no particular order or fixed direction on a nearby shelves. Random papers were strewn around the desk. For an organisation that thrived of shadows and secrecy, their data security left something to be desired. Owen watched the clock. It ticked loudly as the seconds dragged by. His boss was late, but that was to be expected. He recognised a test when he saw one, he was supposed to say quiet and fixed in position, loyally keeping to attention. He had to admit he was a little confused, a feeling that made him quite uneasy. Training briefings rarely happened in the office and were never given alone. So why was he here?

The door clicked. His boss, a stern grey-haired man, approached the desk and took his sit without a word. Owen didn’t speak. He’d learned quickly what a terrible move speaking first could be. He waited patiently as his boss flicked through some papers. After a few seconds, he placed them down and looked up before starting to talk.

“Good morning, Mr Cavour. Thank you for waiting.” The man began.

“It’s no problem. I have plenty of time.” Said Owen.

“Yes, I’m aware. How are you feeling today?”

“I’m perfectly well, thank you.” He lied through a forced smile.

“No, you’re not. Don’t lie.” The man scowled.

“I’m just…struggling to settle is all. And this leg of mine is still driving me crazy.” Owen admitted. While he could walk again, his leg was one of the few parts of his body that refused to fully heal. Some days it would be perfectly fine, and he could wander around as freely as he could before, as if the fall had never happened at all. Other days he took everything in him not to scream. And then there was the parts of him that Chimera’s medical team couldn’t so easily fix. Problems of the heart some might say. Most of the time, Chimera kept him well distracted to a point where thinking of anything else was near impossible, but at night, when he was alone, he couldn’t help but think of home. Of Curt. Curt who had loved him. Curt who had left him. He wanted so badly to hate him. Thoughts of what he had done filled him with a fire that he had never felt in his old life, even on the toughest of missions. Yet some part, a small, stupid part, kept that stupid face in his dreams and in his nightmares. An ounce of love held onto him with an iron grip, filling him with worry. Where was he now? Was he safe? Did he even care that Owen was gone at all?

“Well, I can’t do much more about the leg, not if we want to keep you coherent, but I might be able to help out with the settling in problem.” The man explained.

“You can?”

“Do you know why you’re here, Mr Cavour?”

“I…” He stopped. No point in lying. He always seemed to know when he was lying. “No. I’m afraid I don’t.”

“You’re here because we finally have a mission for you. Consider your training complete.”

“Oh...” Owen paused for a second to consider what was going on. Was he finally an actual part of the organisation? He’d been waiting to get out in the field for so long. Nothing kept the mind occupied like the thrill of chase, the fury of the fight. “Thank you, Sir.”

“No need to thank me, Mr Cavour. Here, read this.” The man pushed some loose paperwork aside and picked up a thick file. Owen flicked through, scanning the pages.

“Jonathan Westcliff. Smuggler, assassin, and-“

“And traitor.”

“A former agent of ours?” Owen asked.

“Not exactly, but he did work for us for a while.”

“What happened?”

“He ran off, taking with him a lot of information that he shouldn’t have. It was quite a few years ago now. He thought he’d managed to disappear. Well, I suppose he did really, for a while, but Chimera finds everyone in the end.” The man explained.

“Do you want me to bring him in?” Asked Owen, placing the file down.

“No, Mr Cavour, I want you to get rid of him.”

Owen took a couple of seconds to process the command. His blood froze as he realised what he was being asked to do.

“This…this is an assassination.” Owen gulped.

“Don’t think of it like that. Think of it as…an execution. Traitors always get their due. Surely you understand that.”

“Of course.” Owen said quietly.

“Is there a problem, Mr Cavour?” The man asked. Owen shook his head.

“I’ll do it. You’ll have everything sorted by the end of the week.” He replied. Problem or not, it wasn’t a lie. He knew better than most how to follow orders.

“Very good.” The man nodded firmly. Owen got up and headed for the door, already starting to form a mental plan. “Oh, and Mr Cavour.” The man called after him. Owen froze, his hand hovering above the handle. “This a confidential affair, which means no witnesses. There can be no survivors, do you understand.”

“I understand.” Owen nodded as he rushed out the door.

\----0----

January 15th, 1958. 1030pm. Liverpool. Owen snuck silently through the unlit alleys and back gardens until he reached the back of the Westcliff’s residence. It was a two up, two down with a small grassed garden area. Owen crouched down beneath the window next to the blue backdoor. He reached for his concealed weapon, a black handgun, from his long, thick winter coat. He took a quick glance through the kitchen window. The kitchen door was wide open, so he got a clear view straight through the tiny cooking space into the living room. It seemed like a cosy place. The Christmas tree was still up, its multi-coloured fairy lights twinkling in the dim light. On the coffee table in front of them sat two full glasses of red wine, with the bottle between them. A tall reading light illuminated the couple on the sofa, as need their tiny black and white television, which neither of them were paying close attention to. The man, Jonathan, was reading through a broadsheet newspaper. The woman, presumably his wife, sat by the light, silently knitting. Further on still, he could see the staircase just outside the living room door, with its bannister decorated with golden tinsel. It was a simple house for a simple couple. Owen almost felt bad for the mess he was about to make of it. Almost.

Owen reached up to try the handle. To his surprise, it was unlocked. Years off the job must have made Jonathan complacent, which made them perfect for Owen’s purposes. There was nothing a good agent loved more than enemy complacently. He creeped through the kitchen. His footsteps were as light as air. He flattened himself against the wall in the kitchen by the living room door, his gun loaded and ready. He said a silent prayer and counted down.

Three.

Two.

One.

He spun round into the entrance, immediately firing a calculated blind shot. The poor wife didn’t even get the chance to scream. For the rest of his life, Owen was never sure she saw him at all. The bullet hit her in the side of the head, and she fell to the side, dead. The startled man jumped to his feet, dropping the newspaper.

“Jesus.” Jonathan exclaimed. Owen readied himself to fire again. Jonathan, apparently still retaining some of his skills from his previous career, through the coffee table onto his side and ducked down. The bullet hit the table, splintering a small section of the wood. Owen sighed and rolled his eyes. These temporary inconveniences were always a pain. Owen marched round the side, only to met with a swift kick in the chest. Owen staggered back, winded. He’d barely had the chance to recover when he felt the dull pain of punch around to the side of his face. Owen spat blood. A tooth fell to the ground. He scowled. The little shit was really in for it now. He looked up. Jonathan had started to sprint out of the room. Owen presumed he was heading for the exit. It was much harder to hunt down a man in the open streets. Instead, the man stopped at the bottom of the stairs, desperately looking up.

“Ameli-“ He shouted towards the top floor, but was cut off by a sudden pain. He reached down to the right side of his abdomen. Sticky red blood soaked through his shirt, stained his hand. He looked up at Owen, tears starting to form in his eyes. Owen kept his face cold and stony. Pity was a weakness in a job like his. He didn’t have the time or the patience for people who made a fuss. He pulled the man back by his shoulder, throwing him front first to the floor. The man rolled over, reaching up a trembling hand in a weak attempt at protection. Owen fired again. This time the bullet hit Jonathan square in the forehead, killing him instantly. Owen lowered his gun and waited a second before taking a breath and wiping his blood covered mouth clean with his sleeve. He expected Chimera would make his test run harder, but overall, he’d dealt with things far more difficult.

“Dad?” Owen’s heart stopped at the sound of a soft, sleepy voice, followed by a terrified gasp and a tiny thud. Owen turned slowly. Before him stood a little blonde-haired blue-eyed girl, no older than six. She was so small that he hadn’t heard her footsteps over all the commotion. The fighting and the shouting must have woken her from her sleep, because she was still in her white pyjamas. She stood starring at him, wide eyed. He looked for a second to the floor to see the cause of the thud. A teddy bear lay upright by her side, which she must have dropped after the shock.

“Shit.” Owen muttered aloud, the weight of the gun in his heads suddenly feeling as heavy as a thousand rocks. The same command played round and round in his head. No witnesses. No survivors. “Shit.”

It wasn’t the first time Owen had encountered a child on a mission. Him and Curt had at least two insistences that ended up involving them and he suspected that there were more that time had simply erased from his memory. Of course, they had always ended up being their protectors, not their attackers. They had their problems. They were illogical, impatient, and absolutely terrible at problem solving, but they seemed to have a sixth sense for danger that not even the best agent could replicate. The girl started take small steps backwards towards the door, keeping an eye on him as if she was trying to cautiously escape a wild animal.

“Stay where you are.” Owen shouted, raising his gun up again. She gasped and froze. He lowered his voice again to a talking volume, trying to keep an audible shake out of his speech. “Just…s-stay where you are. Keep perfectly still, okay?”

“O-okay.” The girl stuttered. Owen tightened his grip around the gun as the sweaty palms threatening to force him to let go.

“T-t-this is only going to take a second, okay sweetheart? It’s all going to be just fine.” The words were more for his comfort than hers. He tried to gulp, but his throat had turned so dry. His heart was pounding so fast and his hands were shaking so much that could barely keep aim. “It’s going to be fine.”

His finger hovered above the trigger. This had to be done. Even before Chimera, back when he was working for MI6, he’d been taught over and over again that sacrifices needed to be made. Sometimes, lives had be lost for a greater good. Even if nobody saw it at first, even if it seemed senseless, there was always a greater good.

In the end, it wasn’t the girl or the mess that caught his eye, but the teddy bear. It was a raggedy, love warn old thing, which lay starring glassy eyed up at the ceiling. Owen used to have a bear just like it. He’d had it since he was a baby and loved it with all his heart. When he moved out on his own, he’d left it behind in an attempt to be ‘grown up’, but he knew his mum had kept hold of it. It had lived in a box in her attic, along with boxes of his old toys and childhood photographs. He’d never see that bear again now. He’d never see his mum either. That was the price he paid to hide himself among Chimera. He’d given them his loyalty and his freedom to stay alive. He’d given them everything else to stay dead.

He sighed. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.

He put the gun away and picked up the bear. He carefully approached the girl, stopping a few steps away, and stretched out his arm to offer her the bear. She snatched the bear out of his hands and hugged it against her chest.

“That’s a nice bear you’ve got. Do they have a name?” Owen asked sweetly.

“Mini.” The girl answered.

“Mini. That’s a nice name. What about you? What’s your name?”

“Amelia.”

“Hello Amelia.” Owen smiled. He saw her eyes travel towards the mess of her living. A twinge of panic leapt through his body. “Don’t look over there.” He said frantically. Amelia’s eyes snapped back to him and he regained control of his voice. “Just keep your eyes on me. Do you have any family near here?”

“No. I had a grandma, but she died, and an aunty, but she moved to Malta with a painter.”

“Did she? Did she really?” Owen nodded nervously. “Okay…” He looked around, as if the room could somehow offer him some answers. An idea struck, Owen grabbed Amelia’s hand and held it tightly. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” Amelia asked as Owen opened the front door and lead her out onto the cold, well-lit street.

“It’s an adventure.” Owen smiled, his breath coming out in white whisps as he spoke.

“Are we coming back?”

Owen bit his lip. He took a shaky breath, unable to answer.

“Just keep hold of my hand, Amelia.” He said shakily. He led her through the streets for around five minutes, walking so fast Amelia had to jog to keep by his side. Her hands were so cold. He looked down to see her shivering and holding Mini against her chest for comfort and warmth. He wanted to stop for a second and tell that she was going to be okay. He wanted to wrap his coat around her and promise to get her somewhere safe, where she’d always be comfortable and happy. But he couldn’t do any of that. Giving her his coat would have unveiled his weapon and he’d already stolen her safe place from her. Words and promises wouldn’t help. The only thing he could do for her now was deliver her to some sort of sanctuary.

They reached a police station. Owen sat Amelia down on the steps to the door and knelt down so that he was at eye level. He knew he had to go soon. Someone must have heard the racket from the fight and as soon as they finally decided to investigate, the whole area would be on high alert.

“How old are you, Amelia?”

“Six. I’ll be seven in a few months.” She told him.

“Six? What a big girl. And I bet you can count really high, can’t you, Amelia?”

“Ahuh.” She nodded.

“How high can you count?”

“All the way up to a hundred.” Amelia proudly announced.

“Wow. That is high.” Owen announced in mock amazement. “Alright, we’re going to play a game. I want you to close your eyes and start counting from one to a hundred. I’m going to start walking away.”

“Like hide and seek.” Amelia smiled.

“Kind of.” Owen nodded. “When you get to one hundred, open your eyes, go inside, and approach the receptionist. Tell them that you heard someone break into your home and start attacking your parents and you ran out because you were scared. If they ask you what the attacker looked like, tell them you didn’t see. They’ll know what to do. Can you do all that?”

“Yes.” Amelia nodded.

“Repeat back to me what I just said.”

“Close my eyes, count to one hundred, go inside to the receptionist and tell them that someone attacked by parents and I was scared.” Amelia recited.

“And if they ask you what the attacker looked like?” He prompted.

“I didn’t see.”

“Good girl, Amelia.” Owen said quietly. “Okay, go on.”

Amelia placed Mini by her side, screwed her eyes up tight, and placed her hands over them.

“One, two, three.” Owen backed away slowly, keeping an eye on the tiny girl sitting alone on the icy stone steps. After a few seconds, he gulped and sprinted away, heading into the night. He silently prayed that Amelia would be okay. He prayed even harder that they’d never meet again. If anyone in Chimera asked him what happened, he’d tell them everyone at the Westcliff residence was gone. It wasn’t a lie, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to believe that Owen still had some morals after the fall, at least to begin with.


End file.
